


Even The Cleverest Blade

by Catchclaw



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Schmoop, Top Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Never did Loki, the slipperiest of all the gods, look so cornered as when his emotions were plain.





	Even The Cleverest Blade

“What was it like being king?”

Loki turned, the curve of his shoulder sinking into Thor's pillow. His hair was a black beaten flame and his throat was awash with the roses that Thor's teeth had left behind; markers of an evening well spent. “Are you soliciting advice?” 

“No.” Thor traced the petals with the tips of his fingers and marveled at the sound his brother made: a soft, ardent purr. “I'm curious.”

They had been aboard the floating city, New Asgard, for some five days hence, but it had been only two since they’d fallen into an old, favorite habit: sloppily at first, urged on by too much of the Grandmaster’s wine; then with more deliberation and considerably more skill. What a fearsome kisser his brother had learned to be. How long had it been, then? A dozen years? A hundred? Too many. But they had remembered each other well enough, a route once familiar made new again by time; snow-covered chasms that once seemed impassible now a matter made simple by touch, by the stretch of hand over flesh. 

So if they’d chosen to drown in each other a little, here in the soft folds of Loki’s bed, before a magiked hearth that burned solely by his brother’s will, then so be it. Surely they’d earned it.

“It was,” Loki said dreamily, “not nearly so pleasant as this. Of that much you can be certain.”

Thor chuckled and slowed the pace of his hand. “Humor me, then. Tell me of its travails.”

Loki sighed, a long, exorbitant gesture that stretched from the tips of his fingers to the base of his feet. Took his time to answer.

“There’s no doubt,” he said finally, “that possessing a throne has its charms. Being the alpha and omega of one’s realm—it was a feeling like none I have known.” He hesitated, the witchfire playing over the plains of his face as if the Aurora Borealis themselves were blowing their breath on his skin. “But believe it or not, brother, the entertainments of adulation do have a tendency to fade.”

“Do they?” Thor said. “I’d have thought you’d like being worshipped.”

Loki’s eyes swept open, searched for him, like frost flowers seeking the moon. “Of course I did. I’ve always thought such adoration to be my right.” A kiss, a cool bloom on Thor’s cheek. “And you have done little to dissuade me of that opinion.”

Thor cupped Loki’s jaw and stilled him. “And yet—”

“And yet?”

“There was something about having Asgard at your feet that you found displeasing?”

“Not displeasing,” Loki said. “Something far, far worse: it was boring.”

Thor’s eyebrows lifted. “You found being king of the Nine Realms boring?”

“Mmmm, after a while. Yes.” Loki strummed Thor’s ribs, a player seeking a favorite chord. “There was little challenge in it, having won. The struggle was far more interesting than the victory.” He sat up a little, his lips twisted in annoyance. “And anyway, nobody knew it was me. Nobody thought to question a single one of my orders, no matter how outlandish or silly or expensive—no one even harbored a murmur of doubt!—so long as I wore the All-Father’s face.” His voice grew petulant. “Ridiculous trusting children, that’s what your Asgardians are, Thor. Be warned of that now.”

“Ah,” Thor said, “I see. It was your ego that was stung, was it? You would have been happy to lead a people, no matter how trusting, so long as you wore your own guise.”

Loki smiled, that beloved, fevered twist. “Of course.”

Thor caught a hand in his brother’s hair, stormblown and knotted. “At last you have learned the danger of being too clever for your own good: even your own ego cannot bear the fruits of your success.”

Loki made a soft, hot sound. “Ah, no, _elskling_.”

“No?”

His brother shifted in his grip, leaned away from his fist until Thor understood what he wanted: _pull_. And when he did, Loki groaned, a noise like planets dying, his nails falling sharp around Thor’s heart.

“No,” Loki said again, hoarse. “What I learned is that even the cleverest blade grows dull without its favorite whetstone to keep it sharp.”

Thor grinned, let the curve of his mouth echo feral. “Oh, you missed me, didn’t you? You can say it. I won’t judge you too harshly.”

Loki’s face flushed, color spreading eager fingers down his throat. “Bullshit.”

“Tsk tsk,” Thor chided. “You’ve already admitted it. There’s no use in getting shy about it now.”

A squirm, a hiss, and never did Loki, the slipperiest of all the gods, look so cornered as when his emotions were plain. Thor laughed and hauled him down, tugged, until they were face to face once more, hip to hip. He nipped at Loki’s scowl. “Come now,” he said, teasing, “would you bury your blade in me, brother?”

Loki laughed, a half-strangled bark belied by the catch of his hands on Thor’s chest, the warm weight of him that nuzzled Thor’s own. “I should refuse you on the basis of your inanity alone, you oaf.”

“And yet,” Thor said firm, with a flick of his wrist that had Loki’s fingers wound in his, “we both know you will not.” He drew their hands down the range of his stomach, over the rough curls around his cock, between the warm press of his thighs. “Not when I have asked so politely.”

The press of a thumb there, a rough stroke that trapped Thor’s breath in his throat. “Are you certain?” Loki asked, all the sharpness shed, a delicate reverence woven there instead.

Thor kissed him, let his tongue say what his words could only hope to capture. “I would not offer,” he murmured after a moment, “if it was not to be joyfully given.”

The air about them shimmered, rippled with vivid energy that made Thor feel as though he were a wave and Loki land and in his next breath, Loki was stretched over top him, a dark, loving coil whose mouth battered his flesh, ardent and fierce. He said his brother’s name, sighed it, until Loki hummed in response as he painted the infinite across the plains of Thor’s chest, beneath his arms and down the rungs of his ribs until Thor was magma, a fragment of the living earth, and when Loki sank between his thighs and gave Thor the tip of his tongue—then, ah then, Thor was starlight.

There was a river, a song, and it rang with Loki’s voice, a thousand words from a hundred lifetimes, all of them sinking like stones from Thor’s ears to his cock. He stroked himself in ragged time, chasing the rhythm of his brother’s mouth, trying to speak, trying to find his way to Loki’s name. Inside him, Loki’s fingers turned, tricky, and as he cried out the fire faded yellow and burned anew in blue.

“Yes,” Loki said, somewhere, always, now. “Yes, _elskling_. Let me see you shatter." 

Thor felt his pleasure bleed into the bed, seep into his brother’s skin, and when he came, there was no sound, only an arch of his body, a gasp, an overwhelming sense of need that eased only when Loki kissed him, his smile as sharp as the stark shove of his cock.

“Ah, brother.” He fisted the pillow beneath Thor’s head and snapped his hips, humming: “How I have missed this.”

Thor was stupor, he was shadow, he was smiling so hard that it hurt. “Have you now? And here I thought you were determined to convince me otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Loki panted.

Thor raised his knees and trapped his brother between them, gave neither of them any quarter. “As you wish, my king.”

Loki’s chest trembled, a hint of faraway thunder. “Don’t be childish. That’s your title, idiot.”

“Is it? Well.” Thor locked his arms around Loki’s back, his elbows joined like a vise. “Who else in the Realms has this privilege, hmm? Who else do I bow to like this?”

“Stop it.”

Thor lifted his hips and Loki fell in harder, strong, senseless. “Please, highness,” Thor said, no teasing now, “let me adore you. Is that not your due?"

Loki snarled, a beautiful wild thing. “Shut _up_.”

“You would not have me say what we both know to be true?”

"No, just—!"

Thor shot his hand through Loki’s hair again, his fingers slipping through sweat. “ _Elskling_ ," he whispered, "I am happier as shards in your hands than in any other’s whole.”

He pulled once more, fierce, and Loki sang like a bell supernova, a crack of noise that snuffed out the fire and plunged the room into darkness, and there was nothing left except the two of them, except the centuries that surrounded them, the need that had destroyed each and remade the other a thousand times over again.

“ _Jeg elsker deg_ ,” Loki whispered, as if the words were whipped out of him. “Thor, brother, I—”

And then it was done and done and Loki was fire between his hands, smoke, a smile that would put the heartiest sunrise to shame.

“You,” Loki said when he knew sense again, when the hearth had once more flickered to life, “are an unbelievable sop.”

Thor grinned, his heart as light as his cock was once again heavy. “And I meant every word.”

He braced himself for a shove, or the batter of Loki’s fist, but instead, Loki wrapped his hands around Thor’s face and gazed upon him as if he were an idol. Said: “So did I, my king.”

Loki kissed him, quick and firm; a deal made, an acknowledgement given. Then:

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “I’m never calling you that in public. And I’m not bowing to you, period. You don’t need anyone else to prostrate themselves before your little silver chair. There’s a line of supplicants plenty long.”

“It’s a throne,” Thor said for the hundredth time, “and of course you won’t. You bow to no one, brother. Even me.” He palmed the cooling ember of Loki’s cheek. “This your king commands.”

“See?” Loki said in the handbreadth before their mouths met. “Unbelievable sop.”


End file.
